


there's never air to breathe

by ladybonehollows



Category: Tales from Verania - T.J. Klune
Genre: Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, post The Consumption of Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybonehollows/pseuds/ladybonehollows
Summary: Ryan wakes up, and Sam isn't there.
Relationships: Ryan Foxheart & Prince Justin, Sam Haversford/Ryan Foxheart
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	there's never air to breathe

**Author's Note:**

> The first paragraph, and the excerpt from the letter, are taken directly from the epilogue and the coda of The Consumption of Magic.

In a billowing white room, a knight commander named Ryan Foxheart opened his eyes and said, “Sam.”

A sound came from his left, and he turned his head to see Justin sitting in a chair against the wall. He had a book in his hands, and it hit the stone floor with a  _ thump _ as Justin jumped to his feet. His brow was pinched, his skin pale — he looked  _ worried _ , and a fist tightened around Ryan's heart in response, a cold wash of dread sinking through him. “What —” he said, and then froze.

Because the last memory he had was of Sam getting free from the dragon blood barrier to fight Myrin.

And Sam wasn’t by his bed, and Justin had that  _ look _ on his face, and panic surged up in him so fast that he felt like he would be sick with it.

"Where is he?" he gasped, trying to sit up, but agony spiked through his body as he moved. His head fell back onto the bed, white spots flashing in front of his eyes. He felt like his stomach was on fire. He felt like he was going to pass out. It might have slowed him, but it didn't stop him. He got his elbows underneath him and  _ pushed _ , but he was so weak, why was he so weak, his arms were trembling from the exertion already but  _ none of it mattered because where was Sam? _

Justin was beside the bed instantly, his hands on Ryan's shoulders, pushing him back down. Ryan struggled but he didn't have the strength to stop him. Instead, he grabbed the collar of Justin's shirt, forcing him to look at him. "Where is he? What happened, why isn't he here? Justin, what — Myrin, he —"

“Ryan,” Justin said sharply, and he snapped his mouth shut, trapping his words. He could do nothing for the pounding of his heart. “Sam’s okay. Take a breath. He was okay.”

Ice around his heart. His hands tightened in Justin’s shirt. “Was?”

“Is,” he said quickly, his eyes darting away and then back so fast that he almost missed it. “I'm sure he is."

“What… you don't know?” How could he not know? He couldn’t breathe. Sam wasn’t here, and he couldn’t  _ breathe. _ “Justin — please —”

Justin pressed his lips together. Still, he hesitated, and the fact that he didn’t want to say whatever it was that had happened set him trembling. Justin’s hand covered his immediately, and his shoulders dropped. “He left,” he said. It sounded like an apology.

“He…” Ryan’s hands slipped out from underneath Justin’s as he let go of his shirt and dropped back onto the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth twisting as the back of his throat started to burn. He didn’t need to ask where. "When?" he said instead.

“Just over a week ago. It's been two weeks since… that you've been unconscious.”

_ And he didn’t wait for me _ . He tried to push the thought away as soon as he had it, but it sank its claws into him and didn’t let go. It wasn’t as though he could have gone with him. The Great White’s instructions had been clear. But the thought of not getting to see him again, not being able to hold him in his arms… that he couldn’t tell him to be careful, to make sure he was okay… “Was he hurt?” he asked. Justin didn’t respond straight away, and another wave of panic rolled through him. “Was he okay?  _ Justin. _ ”

“He was fine,” Justin said, but the tightness around his eyes said otherwise. “Physically,” he added. “He was more shaken up about you and Morgan than anything else.”

Morgan. He’d forgotten that Morgan had shown up at the house. Something teased at the edge of his memory, but he couldn’t grasp it. “What about Morgan?”

And so Justin told him. About Morgan sacrificing himself. About Randall taking Myrin… away. About how it tore Sam up, that his mentor gave up his life to protect Sam and his magic. That watching Ryan, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his chest, was a knife twisting in an open wound.

So he left.

“He left,” Justin said softly. He was sitting on the side of Ryan’s bed, looking down at his hands. He put up a great front of disinterest, but Ryan could see his anguish in the tension in his shoulders, in the tightness of his jaw. Somehow, Justin had come to care for Sam just as much as the rest of them. “He did what he had to do. He needs the Great White's help. We all do. Ryan, I know… I know how bad this feels. That he's not here right now. But he did what he had to do.”

“I know,” he said. An image of Sam swam before his eyes, haunted by Morgan’s death. Morgan meant more to him than almost anyone else in the world. Myrin had to pay for this. Myrin couldn’t be allowed to take  _ this _ . Of course Sam wasn’t going to let him win. He’d do whatever he had to do, and his next steps had already been laid out for him. “It's good,” he said. “It's good.”

And started to cry.

He must have made a sound. Justin looked up at him sharply, his face falling at whatever he saw on Ryan’s face. Ryan wiped away the first few tears that fell, but they just kept coming. His throat was tight, and when he tried to take a breath it stuttered wetly, his chest hitching, and then Justin was pulling him up, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Turning his head, he pressed his face against Justin’s neck and let himself cry. Justin’s embrace was familiar, his arms around him strong, but it only reminded him of Sam. Sam, who wasn’t here. Sam, who was doing what had to be done, and doing it  _ without him _ . His stomach felt like it had been torn open, Morgan was dead, and Sam had left. Ryan clutched at Justin and tried to pull himself together. It took longer than he liked to admit, and Justin didn’t pull away until he did. “A year?” he said hoarsely.

“He left you a note,” Justin said. Squeezing Ryan’s shoulder, he stood up from the bed and retrieved a piece of paper from the bedside table, folded and sealed. His name was written on the front in Sam’s messy hand. “I’ll give you a few minutes to read it,” he said, putting the letter into Ryan’s shaking hands. “I have to let someone know you’ve woken up. You were… hurt really badly.”

Justin looked away, but not before Ryan caught the pain of it on his face. He wished he could feel guilty about it, could feel anything about it, but the only thing he could think of was the letter. And Sam.

The door closed quietly behind Justin, and Ryan listened for his voice, calling for a nurse. It didn’t come, and he realised that he was giving him time. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and waited until he could draw a full breath before he opened them. Breaking the seal on the letter, he opened it.

_ Hold on, okay? _

_ Just hold on. _

_ Because one day, and one day soon, I am going to come back for you. _

_ And I will never let you go. _

Folding the letter carefully, he pressed it against his chest, against his heart, and settled in to wait.


End file.
